


Love Languages

by space_rogue



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Established Relationship, F/F, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kissing, Nicknames, Not Canon Compliant, POV Gideon, no harrow the ninth spoilers !!!!!!!!, pretend they got together at drearburh ok, they are both idiots but they are adorable idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_rogue/pseuds/space_rogue
Summary: Gideon was trying really *really* REALLY hard to be a good girlfriend. She really was. But nuns don't know shit about girlfriend stuff. So when Gideon finds an article about "love languages" in one of her comics - well, it's obvious what has to happen next.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 41
Kudos: 226





	Love Languages

As it turned out, being raised by a bunch of ancient nuns did not make it easy to be a good girlfriend.

But damn, Gideon was gonna try.

True, Gideon wasn’t _entirely_ sure that her and Harrowhark were “girlfriends” – they hadn’t put a label on it! – but she and Harrow had kissed one time _and_ Harrow was now using Gideon’s full name. So they were basically girlfriends. Or dating. Or whatever.

The point was, Gideon liked Harrow – like, really liked her. She liked the way Harrow’s face got all scrunched up in concentration just before the blood sweat ruined her meticulously painted skull. She liked how Harrow pronounced “Drearburh” in a soft purr, like the place was a sweet old friend instead of a horrible haunted hellhole. She liked how Harrow fidgeted impatiently with the tiny bones in her ears during every Ninth service, thinking no one would notice. She _really_ liked the tiny smile that graced Harrow’s features when Gideon made a joke that Harrow thought was funny.

Sometimes it felt like all Gideon did was chase that stupid little smile. Which felt sappy and ridiculous and disgusting. But there it was.

So obviously when Gideon was lounging in her cell reading a comic that contained a page that yelled “LOVE LANGUAGE GUIDE: WHAT YOU CAN DO TO MAKE HER LOVE YOU FOREVER” – Gideon was definitely interested. The article was full of a bunch of crap Gideon would never do in ten million myriads (were people seriously out there saying things like “I appreciate when you hug me” and calling it love? Necrolord in a nutsack that was _awful_ ), but some of it actually seemed useful. Gideon wasn’t great at expressing herself, but she was willing to give it a try.

* * *

**I. ACTS OF SERVICE**

“Harry—”

“—don’t—”

“—sorry. Harrow, do you need help with anything?”

The Reverend Daughter’s eyes narrowed beneath her paint, the picture of suspicion. “Why?”

“I just figured you might be doing stuff. And I could help you do stuff.” Gideon fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt. This was already going badly. But Gideon Nav was nothing if not stubborn. Stubborn as Crux’s annoying willingness to keep living.

Harrow tilted her head to the side in confusion. “You want to help. With cleaning my ceremonial vestments.”

_Fuck_. Boring nun shit. “Uh. Yes?”

“No you don’t.” Harrow sighed. “Go away, Griddle. I’m busy.”

Grumbling quietly (but also incredibly relieved she didn’t have to deal with whatever weird ritual went along with cleaning ceremonial robes), Gideon stalked out of the room, determined to find another way to try out this “acts of service” thing.

The comic had said that this love language was about “easing the burden of responsibility” – whatever that meant – but Harrow _loved_ responsibility. The nerdy little nerd practically lived to take care of things. Actually, yeah, that was literally her purpose in life: to watch over a moldy tomb. If Gideon wanted to help Harrow with something, it would have to be something Harrow didn’t actually like doing.

Gideon paced the gloomy halls, wracking her brain for something she could do for Harrow. The comic had suggested a bunch of dumb shit: thank you notes, taking out the trash, getting supplies, other things that sounded equally useless and equally like things Gideon did not want to do thank-you-very-much.

One idea did have potential, though: Making food.

Gideon knew absolutely nothing about what Harrow ate. In fact, Gideon wasn’t _entirely_ sure that Harrow consumed food. Maybe it was a weird necromancer thing. Maybe she just ate bones.

But Gideon figured it would be worth a shot.

* * *

“Griddle. _What_ – by the King of the Nine Renewals – _is this_?”

Gideon felt her stomach do a panicked backflip. She knew it – Harrowhark didn’t even eat normal human food. Gideon should have settled for a pile of bones, or started with something simple, or even just threatened one of the horrible aunts to make something _for_ her—

“Nav.” Harrow said sharply, bringing Gideon back to the painful reality before her. “Seriously. What is this?”

Turning her face away so she wouldn’t have to look at the mostly-edible monstrosity she had created, Gideon mumbled, “I made lunch.”

“You made _what_?”

With a snarl, Gideon moved to grab the plate of mush from the table to keep it away from Harrow. “You don’t want it? Fine. I was trying to be nice and make you food since you were busy but if you’re just gonna—”

“Gideon, wait—” Harrow actually looked… apologetic? Weird. “Sorry.” _Weird._ “I just meant— I’ve never seen food that looks like this before. What is it?”

“I didn’t know what you like to eat, or even _if_ you eat anything besides bones—” Harrow snorted, which didn’t help Gideon confirm the veracity of this claim at all “—so I kinda just mixed up all my favorite things and put it on a plate.”

“And your favorite things are apparently… Ortus’ toe clippings and revenant snot?”

“Don’t be a dick, I’m trying to be nice.”

“Sorry.” There it was again. So weird. Harrow sighed. “What is it really?”

Gideon grinned, trying to make the list seem as appetizing as possible, which was no small feat. “Shredded snow leeks with _grey_ porridge in brown sauce. Also I found some little red leaf things in a cupboard and put those in there.”

Harrow hesitated, clearly torn between not being a dick and not destroying her intestinal system. In an act of bravery that Gideon honestly hadn’t expected, Harrow decided not to be a dick. She picked up the proffered spoon and took a weeny bite of the mush.

And immediately spat it out.

“Hey! I thought you weren’t gonna be a dick!”

“Gideon, my mouth is on _fire_.”

“What?! I swear, I didn’t do anything – I don’t even know how to set someone’s mouth on fire (but that would be _so cool_ , right?). There must be something wrong with you.”

Harrow gave her a steely look.

“You try it, then.”

Gideon shoved a heaping spoonful into her face, convinced that Harrow’s taste buds were fucked up because there was no way that grey porridge could taste bad. But then she felt it – her mouth suddenly felt like a hundred hot knives were stabbing her tongue and gullet. She also spat out the offending mixture.

“Told you so.”

“What the—” Gideon looked at her mush, horrified. “The grey porridge… betrayed me?!”

“Next time maybe skip the red leaves. Those are _spices_ , Griddle, and the decrepit digestive systems of the Ninth House have been unable to process them for centuries.” Harrow turned around and gulped down half a glass of tepid water. “Thanks anyway, though. It was a nice idea.”

Gideon stalked out of the room, highly disappointed. Cooking was for suckers.

* * *

**II. PHYSICAL TOUCH**

Gideon gave up on the “acts of service” nonsense after that. Time to move on to the next suggestion from her comic: Physical touch.

This one seemed easy enough. Even though – again – the comic suggested some truly idiotic ideas that Gideon would never do. Rubbing her girlfriend’s neck was never gonna happen – Harrowhark would probably end up snapping Gideon’s if she tried. Gideon didn’t know what a _massage_ was but it sounded complicated. And then there was the issue of kissing.

Gideon was all for it – probably. They had still only kissed once, and that had been _prime_. Everything was all tingly and soft and weirdly, satisfyingly wet. All good stuff. And all of Gideon’s skin mags had made it seem like kissing was extremely fun all the time, so she couldn’t imagine herself disliking it.

But they had only kissed. One. Time.

So it seemed a bit creepy to just start kissing Harrowhark randomly to show affection. That was off limits. Gideon needed to stick to something familiar, something they both felt comfortable doing. Unfortunately, in terms of physical touch, the most her and Harrow had ever touched each other was when they were brawling. Gideon wasn’t a great girlfriend (yet), but even she knew that trying to gouge out your significant other’s eyes while they hurled spikes of bone at you wasn’t exactly relationship material.

Gideon needed to find something in between. Like fighting (which was familiar), but also kinda like kissing (which was awesome, but unmarked territory).

Aggressive hugging seemed like the most obvious solution.

* * *

Gideon started slow – no need to go completely over the top of the first attempt – by giving Harrowhark a noogie.

At least, she _tried_ to give Harrowhark a noogie.

She managed to get one arm around Harrow’s teeny neck, then immediately found herself pinned to the ground by a horde of skeletons.

“ _What_ –“ Harrow raged, producing more and more constructs even as Gideon smashed through the first wave. “— _are you doing_?!”

“I was—” Gideon punched through a skull – “trying to be—” she slammed a hole through several ribcages – “ _playful_!”

Mercifully, shockingly, Harrow let the skeletons disintegrate, leaving Gideon coughing violently in the middle of a pile of bone dust. “What could _possibly_ be playful about attacking me by the throat from behind, you tool?”

Gideon would sooner lick Crux’s boots than admit she got the idea from one of her comics, so she said, “I just thought it would be funny.”

“Of course you did,” Harrow mumbled, turning back to the book she was studying so… studiously. “Well, thanks for the distraction. You can go now.”

Gideon wasn’t going to give up the idea of physical touch so easily. But she wasn’t a _complete_ idiot – maybe Harrow would be more into it if she just asked. Which was why she didn’t leave. Instead, she stepped forward and said, “Yeah. Will do. But first… can I, uh, give you a hug?”

The stare Harrow leveled at her could have pierced armor.

“Why?”

“I dunno, I just… want to. If that’s okay.”

The Reverend Daughter tilted her head to the side like Gideon had suddenly announced she would begin studying necromancy immediately. “You want to?”

“You’re making it weird.”

“ _You_ made it weird by attacking me.”

“Again, it wasn’t an _attack_ it was a failed noogie—”

“—very romantic, Nav—”

“—I’m trying to make it up to you! Can I give you a hug or not?”

For a nanosecond Gideon thought she was about to be attacked by more skeletons. She even let her hand linger over the pommel of her sword, just in case. This ended up being a mistake, since Harrow’s eyes immediately followed the motion cautiously. But then she said, “Yes. But take off that ridiculous sword first.”

A tiny flame of anger flared in Gideon’s chest. “Okay, first of all, I wasn’t gonna _stab_ you. And second of all, don’t diss my child like that.”

Harrow rolled her eyes so hard there was a risk they’d get stuck in her big nerd brain. “It continues to be slightly embarrassing that you insist on referring to that _hunk of metal_ as your child—”

Gideon gasped dramatically and made shushing noises to her sword. “She didn’t mean that, baby—”

“—but most importantly I want you to take it off because I would like to hug Gideon the _person_ , not Gideon-the-idiot-with-a-giant-death-stick-strapped-to-her-back. That just seems… uncomfortable.”

_Oh._ Gideon’s face lit up. She immediately unbuckled the strap of her scabbard and placed the sword carefully on a nearby table. “Alright,” she said excitedly, spreading her arms wide and standing a good five feet away from Harrow. “Prepare to be hugged, Nonny.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Prepare to be hugged, Black Vestal of the Blessed Ninth.”

“Better.”

Without waiting for Harrow to change her mind, Gideon leapt across the room and grabbed Harrow around the waist so fiercely that the momentum pulled her off the floor. Harrow gasped, but didn’t conjure any constructs, so Gideon took this as a good sign and squeezed harder. She buried her face in Harrow’s neck (well, the fabric of her robes that happened to be covering her neck, anyway) and relished in the warmth of Harrow’s torso pressed against her. Harrow smelled exactly as she did when they had kissed – like moldy books and incense, with a hint of salt in her hair – and Gideon grinned against the black fabric, pulling Harrow against her even more tightly.

“Okay,” Harrow said suddenly, sounding like she was struggling to breathe but didn’t want anyone to know it. “put me down.”

Gideon complied immediately. Harrow brushed herself off and stepped back slightly. Gideon continued to smile like an idiot. “I like hugging you.” she said, like an idiot.

“Yes, well,” Harrow said coolly. Did Gideon detect just a _hint_ of embarrassment in her voice? “Most people don’t hug like… that.”

Gideon scoffed. “Like you would know.”

“Oh, because you would?” Harrow spat back, turning to her beloved books once more.

“I dunno how people usually hug. But I liked hugging you like that.”

“Hmm.” Harrow was completely not paying attention to her anymore. Gideon groaned. Another failed attempt.

* * *

**III. RECEIVING GIFTS**

So Harrow liked subtle. Gideon could do subtle.

The next suggestion in the comic – receiving gifts – seemed easy enough. And definitely something that could be done _subtly_. It wasn’t like it was hard to figure out what Harrow liked: bones, books, books about bones, the color black, bones, her face paint, the Locked Tomb, and bones.

Gideon would just get her some bones.

Luckily for Gideon, bones were not hard to find in the Ninth House. The walls of Drearburh were practically plastered with them. It was simply a matter of finding the ones that were loose, that didn’t look like they belonged to anyone important (like _that_ was a possibility in 10,000 years of nuns), and avoiding anyone who might be mad that she was stealing bones.

Within an hour, Gideon had a sizeable armful of brown, aged bones that she hoped were… good. For necromancy or decorations or bracelets or whatever Harrow used them for. Pleased with herself, Gideon immediately strutted to Harrow’s chamber door.

_Subtle_ , she reminded herself. Carefully, she placed the pile of bones directly in front of Harrow’s door, attempting to arrange them artfully. With a flourish, Gideon withdrew a scrap of flimsy from her trousers and scribbled a direct little note:

_Hey Row-Row—_

_Hope these bones are good. Or useful. Or whatever. I found them for you :)_

_Plenty more where that came from!_

_Love,_

_Gideon_

Feeling like she had finally nailed it this time, Gideon knocked on Harrow’s door and walked briskly away, hoping for it to be a surprise. She was just about to round the corner when—

“GIDEON NAV!”

_Shit_ , Gideon thought, panicking for a moment. _How did Glaurica find her that fast?!_ She whipped around, ready to fight off a bunch of bones and defend herself from a flogging. “Listen, Sister Glaurica, all of them were that way when I found—”

But it wasn’t a crusty old nun chasing her down the hall. It was Harrow.

“ _What did you do_?” she spat furiously, brandishing a bone at Gideon.

“I found you some bones!” Gideon said quickly, hoping this was just a misunderstanding. “They’re a gift, I thought you would like—”

“What do you mean you _found_ them? Where?”

“In the— around Drearburh, I dunno! I made sure they weren’t anyone important, I swear, and they were kinda loose already—”

“ _Nav_ ,” Harrow did an honest to God facepalm and released a devastatingly disappointed sigh. “All the citizens of the Ninth who are immortalized here are _important_.”

“Oh.” Gideon said, feeling her face grow red. “Well I can put them back—”

“Do that.”

“Uhh, okay. Sorry. Is there another gift I can—?”

“No, Gideon, the thought was nice, but I don’t need anything. Just— return those poor souls.”

Gideon thought it was a bit rich that Harrow would make fun of her for loving her sword but would call a heap of bones “poor souls” – but tactfully remained silent.

* * *

**IV. WORDS OF AFFIRMATION**

Gideon admitted it – she was getting desperate.

This love language thing was turning out to be trickier than she thought. Or it was completely bogus, which was honestly more likely. But she was determined to try everything.

Which was how she found herself – embarrassingly – sitting in her cell, surrounded by crumpled flimsy, trying to come up with nice things to say about Harrowhark Nonagesimus. And fuck, it was difficult. Not because Harrow was tough to say nice things about – but because words were objectively stupid.

“’Hi Harrowhark…’ too formal. ‘Harrow! You have… nice hands.’ No, God that makes me sound like a dull weeny. Okay, ‘I like it when you smile!’ Somehow weenier. Less physical stuff, Gideon… ‘If I was as smart as you I’d probably be off this planet by now,’ no that’s mean, she actually likes this place. ‘Harrow! My girl! You’re really good at attacking people with skeletons.’ No, no, fuck, also dumb. ‘Thanks for… handing me a cup of water yesterday!’ That is literally pointless. C’mon, Gideon… why are words so terrible? ‘Harrowhark, darling, how is your hair so _shiny_?’”

“I wash it.”

Gideon practically left her skin on the floor of her cell she jumped so bad. Her sword was in her hands before she could even fully process what was happening.

“Put that thing away,” Harrow said scornfully, stepping into the room. “I just wanted to say hello.”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“Are you deaf now? I’m coming to see you. To say hello.” Harrow looked around the room edgily. “So this is where you sleep.”

“Uhh, yeah. Normally.”

“And do other things, I suppose.”

Gideon felt her mouth drop open. “ _Masturbate_?”

“By the Emperor—” Harrow stammered. “That’s _not_ what I— I meant what are you doing with all this flimsy on the floor?”

“Oh.” Gideon’s turn to be embarrassed. “Nothing.”

Under all her face paint, Harrow quirked a dramatic brow. “Really?” She bent and picked up the nearest scrap, reading aloud, “’Dearest Dark Hark’ – ew, Griddle, this is your worst nickname idea yet— ‘I’m glad you’re here, Drearburh is gross without you.’ Wow, who knew you were such a sentimentalist, Gideon?”

“Give that back!” Gideon snarled, lunging to pull the flimsy away from Harrow even as she scrambled to collect all the other pieces. “I don’t – I was just messing around. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well, if I didn’t know that the nun who taught you to write is dead, I’d ask them to be punished for negligence,” Harrow said, but a tiny smile was dancing around her lips. Fuck, Gideon loved that smile. “if you wanted to be a poet why not just talk to Ortus? I’m sure he’d give you some tips.”

“I’m not _trying_ to be a poet,” growled Gideon, still embarrassed enough to be angry. “I’m trying to be nice to you!”

“Oh,” said Harrow, as if genuinely surprised that her girlfriend (or whatever) would attempt to be nice. “well, in that case, it’s a sweet idea. But keep working at it.”

“Not in a million myriads. I’m done with writing.”

Harrow laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. It was… real. Like Gideon had made a joke worth laughing at. Gideon grinned.

But seriously. She was done with writing.

* * *

**V. QUALITY TIME**

There was one more tip left in the comic, and Gideon wasn’t sure if that made her feel nervous or relieved. Both, probably.

Honestly, the last one didn’t sound promising – it involved Gideon and Harrow doing some kind of activity together. For a long time. To date, they hadn’t really spent more than ten minutes alone together, and at best those were botched attempts at flirting, at worst… well, Gideon had fucked up a few of those other love language ideas badly enough to want to avoid Harrow for a few days.

Plus there was the fact that Harrow and Gideon had absolutely no interests in common.

For a brief, hopeful moment Gideon had seriously considered inviting Harrow to the training ground so she could show off all her sick moves. She imagined the look of awe and lust fall over Harrow’s pinched little face as Gideon went through her paces, finally noticing how many push-ups Gideon could do and swooning while saying something like, “Oh Gideon, you strong, hot, badass! Kiss me!”—

—okay, so that was never gonna happen. But a girl could dream.

Also she realized that she would hate sitting through one of Harrow’s lectures on necromantic theory. Doing an activity together that they both enjoyed was highly unlikely.

Fortunately, there was a sentence at the very end of the paragraph that gave Gideon some hope: _You don’t even have to do the same activity together! Just as long as you’re sharing each other’s company, the quality time will be meaningful._

That sounded good. And more importantly, _possible_.

…which was how Gideon found herself outside Harrow’s chamber again, fidgeting nervously with her sleeve and trying to work up the courage to actually knock. She knew Harrow was studying – was counting on it, actually – and knew better than anyone that Harrowhark did _not_ like to be disturbed while she was perusing her musty magic tomes.

Softly, carefully, Gideon knocked on the door.

“What?”

“It’s me, Harrow. Can I come in?”

“Griddle? You know I’m—”

“—studying, yeah I know. I was hoping I could… um… join you.”

That got the door open. Harrow stood there, her face paint smudged, a giant black blanket wrapped snugly around her thin shoulders, a pen stuck haphazardly beside a bone pierced through her left ear. Classic Harrow-is-studying imagery, right there. Gideon smiled.

“Did I hear you right?” Harrow said quietly. “You want to join me? While I study?”

“Uhh… yeah. I’m not gonna study anything, obviously. But I figured we could… I dunno… hang out or whatever. I’ll be super quiet, I promise.”

Gideon almost didn’t believe it. Harrow smiled. Then stepped aside. Fighting to keep her mouth shut, Gideon stepped into the room and leaned awkwardly against the wall. Harrow went back to sitting at her desk and bent her nose over the gigantic book that was inevitably flopped on its surface.

There were a few minutes of awkward silence as Gideon stood by the wall, punctuated only by the occasional ruffle of pages and scratching of Harrow’s pen. Then suddenly she turned around and said, “You can sit on the bed, if you want. But _don’t_ think I mean anything sexual by that – it’s because you look uncomfortable and there’s nowhere else to sit.”

“Okay.” Gideon said thickly. She sat on the very edge of the bed, looking curiously around the room. Gideon had been in there before, obviously, but there was no way she would make this situation even more awkward by looking directly _at_ Harrowhark.

“Do you want… a book to read? Or anything?” Harrow asked cautiously.

“No.” replied Gideon, with slightly more gruffness than she intended. Harrow laughed. Again like Gideon had made a funny joke.

“Of course not,” Harrow turned to face her fully, which was surprising in itself, considering how much _cool undead knowledge_ or whatever was sitting on the desk. “It won’t bother me if you want to… sharpen your sword or whatever you need to do for sword maintenance while I study.”

Now it was Gideon’s turn to laugh, but she realized there was no cruelty in her laughter either. She just thought it was sweet how Harrow genuinely knew nothing about swords. “I can’t sharpen it in here,” she said, smiling. “but I have some polish. If that’s okay?”

“By all means.”

Grinning like a total idiot, Gideon enthusiastically pulled her sword from its scabbard and the rag and polish from the pouch on her hip. To her utter shock, Harrow continued talking, so quietly Gideon almost didn’t hear it: “I like your smile too.”

Gideon’s head snapped away from her sword so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

Gideon beamed, if possible, even more widely. Harrow smiled her tiny smile back.

“Harrow?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you? Real quick?”

“Yeah.”

So Gideon did. Victoriously. Enthusiastically. But softly, because Harrow liked subtlety. And quality time. Specifically – quality time with Gideon Nav.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed some fluff and love after reading "Harrow" okay - and fuck I love these two. Drop a comment if you can, I love them just as much!!
> 
> EDIT: this work now has a [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678443), check it outttttt


End file.
